But it wasn’t that easy. No one had ever penetrated the wall around her heart. No one except Chris. And that ended in heartbreak. Even before Chris, she had been guarded. After her father left, she watched her mother make one bad choice after another. She was still making them. And so far, nothing in her own life had convinced her she would do any better than her mother had.
But what if BethAnn was right? What if God really was trying to bring them back together? If so, Friday night’s discussion was a step in the right direction. There had been no affair. Not only that, but Chris had stayed true to her even when he thought she had betrayed him. That was his version of it, anyway, one she hadn’t totally bought into. It would take more than a few days to throw away everything she had believed for the past five years.
She mashed the brake to make her turn onto Shadowood Lane. She still had another two hours of daylight left. Maybe the evening would be uneventful—no notes on the door, no faces at the window and no bumps in the night. And maybe she could lose herself in a good book and pretend, at least for a short time, that the world was safe and her greatest threat was light years away.
But as she drew closer to the end of the road, the tension that had been blessedly absent all day gradually sifted back over her, and for the thousandth time, she longed for some closer neighbors. If BethAnn was still single, she would seriously consider having a roommate.
When she started up the long gravel drive, a black Blazer waited at its end. Chris hadn’t been by since Friday night. On Saturday, manning the store and attending his assistant manager’s wedding had left him with just enough time for a quick phone call, which was for the best. She had a lot to sort out, and that was going to require time away from him.
He stepped from his vehicle, holding a flat white box with a familiar green-and-red logo. “I come bearing gifts. I hope you’re hungry. I stopped by Pappy’s on the way in.”
A heavenly aroma wafted to her on the late-afternoon breeze, and her stomach rumbled. The pot roast, potatoes and carrots that had been so good at twelve-thirty were long gone at six. Besides, nobody made pizza like Pappy.
“If you’re busy, I can just leave it.”
“No, you can come in. I’ll share it with you.” She flashed him a smile and started up the walk. The company would be nice.
“I tried to call you this morning just after opening the store. When it went to voice mail, I figured you were probably in church.”
She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Yep. Sunday mornings between ten and twelve, you won’t get me.” She started to step onto the porch and froze, eyes locked on the nearest living room window. That all-too-familiar sense of dread settled over her.
“Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know.” She always kept her blinds open slightly, the slats angled downward so she could see out but no one could see in. The blinds on the living room window just to her right had slats angled in the opposite direction. “The blinds are...different.”
From where she stood, the couch in front of the window was visible. As was the lamp on the end table, still illuminated from when she read her Bible and drank her morning coffee. She hadn’t turned it off before she left. A light on gave the illusion that someone was home. Of course, whoever was watching her probably knew when the house was vacant.
Chris stepped up beside her, and within moments evidently noticed the same thing she had. “Wait here.” He handed her the pizza and stalked to his truck. When she unlocked the door, he went in first, pistol drawn.
She followed him from room to room, much as she had done with Branch and Alan. And Chris didn’t find any more than the other men had. All the windows and doors were locked, all her personal items untouched. Even the sliders were secure. With the Charley bar down and the pin in the top, no one was coming through without breaking the glass.
Chris turned from the window next to her bed, the last to be checked. “Everything’s secure. What do you think happened to the blinds?”
“It had to have been me.” There was no other explanation. “I cleaned the house yesterday, and I did dust those sills. I don’t remember adjusting any of the blinds, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not remembering a lot of things lately.”
She walked from the room and headed toward the stairs. However the slats got turned, it was easy enough to remedy. And the sooner the better. When she reached the living room, she turned to face him. “Thank you. I’m so glad you were here. Otherwise, I would have had to call the police and risk Branch’s annoyance, or come in alone and check it out myself.”
“Don’t ever do that.” He put both hands on her shoulders, his dark gaze heavy with concern. “If you’re not comfortable calling the police, call me. Don’t put yourself in danger.”
“But once again, it turned out to be nothing.” She sighed and reached for the wand to the blinds, but he stopped her.
“Wait. I’m going to have Alan see if he can lift any prints, just in case.”
She gave him a shaky smile. He was so sweet, validating her fears even though he had just proven no one had come inside. The fact was she was losing her mind—misplacing things and fiddling with the blinds with no recollection of doing so.
He reached over her head to grasp the wand near its top. Moments later the angle of those blinds matched the others in the room. “So has anything else happened? Any more notes? Creeps looking in your windows?”
“Nope, just the two notes, and no more faces at the window.”
“Two notes? I only know about one.”
Oh, yeah. She hadn’t told him about the second one. “I had another note when I got home from the mall Thursday night.”
His gaze hardened. “And what did this note say?”
“I don’t remember exactly. I gave both notes to Alan.”
There was a visible tic in his jaw now, and a vein began to throb at his temple. “I’m not looking for verbatim. A summary will do just fine.”
“He let me know he’s still watching me. He knew I gave the flowers to Mrs. Johnson.”
“That’s it.” The words exploded from his mouth. “I’m not letting you stay here alone any longer.”
“You’re not moving in.” She crossed her arms and stared up at him, daring him to argue.
“Then go stay with BethAnn.”
“I can’t. BethAnn is allergic to cats. Besides, all my stuff is here.”
For several moments, he looked at her, indecision flashing across his features. Then he put his hands on her shoulders again and gently turned her to face him. “I’m really worried about you, Missy.”
His eyes held hers, and a glow infused her chest, spreading like warm honey through her body. No one ever called her Missy except Chris. The name on his lips was an endearment, a soft caress that set her walls of resistance teetering on the brink of collapse. She tore her gaze from those riveting eyes, determined to break the cord that had snagged and now held her. It didn’t help. When it wasn’t his eyes or his voice, it was his scent, rugged and masculine, reminiscent of a field of evergreens with subtle hints of spice.
She shrugged off the effect, as well as his offer to help. “I’m all right. I keep everything locked, and I won’t come and go alone in the dark anymore.” That was a new precaution, implemented after the last note. “Alan promised to patrol, too.”
He frowned but still didn’t release her. His hands were warm against her shoulders, almost as warm as his gaze. “I wish you would let me protect you. I’m staying, you know.”
Staying? In Florida? Conflicting emotions did battle inside her chest. “What do you mean?”
“I faxed my resignation to the department and took the store off the market.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons. First of all, the store is in serious financial trouble. Monday I’ll find out just how deep.
But I can’t sell it in this condition, and I don’t have the heart to close it down. I can’t do that to Dad.”
There was a hitch in his voice. She understood. She had lost a parent, too, just in a different way. Actually, she had lost two. With her father, it was overnight—he was gone when she got up in the morning. With her mother, it was a little more gradual—she withdrew into herself, sliding further and further down that path of emotional self-destruction until everything connecting her to her former life had disappeared.
She reached up to place a hand over one of his. “I’m sorry. I know this is really hard on you.”
“I wish I had been here for him. But whatever it takes, I’m going to make the store a success.”
“If anyone can do it, you can. I have no doubt.”
He took both of her hands in his and squeezed them in silent gratitude. That appreciation was reflected in his eyes, along with something much deeper. It slid right past the protective barrier and into her heart. When she subconsciously moistened her lips, his gaze dipped to her mouth. He was thinking about kissing her. And she was trying to remember just why that was a bad idea.
Instead, he cleared his throat and flashed her a crooked grin. “We’ve got an out-of-this-world Pappy’s Supreme getting cold on the kitchen counter.”
“Well, we can’t let that happen.” She followed him to the kitchen, tamping down both disappointment that he didn’t attempt that kiss he was obviously thinking about, and dismay that she wanted it in the first place. “You never did tell me your second reason for staying.”
He raised the lid on the box and folded it backward to rest on the counter, his movements slow and deliberate. When he turned to face her, the teasing grin was gone. “To see if miracles really do happen.”
She didn’t need to ask what miracle he was hoping for. It was all there in his gaze. She busied herself with removing plates from the cupboard and pouring drinks. She was going to do what BethAnn suggested—be open to the possibility that God might want her and Chris together. But she needed to keep a clear head and not rush into anything. And with Chris woven so intricately into her life, that wasn’t going to be an easy task.
* * *
A thousand mini hammers pounded the inside of Chris’s skull and beat against the backs of his eyes. It had been a terrible day. And he had the headache to prove it.
Karen, his new bookkeeper, had shown up at nine, as expected. She was awesome—quick and sharp, with a knack for making sense of gibberish. That was the good news.
The bad news was that every vendor that had supplied products to Jamison Marine in the past ninety days had at least one unpaid invoice, and no payroll taxes had been deposited for three months. The penalties and interest alone were going to kill him.
“Who is AA Best Marine Supply?” Karen asked.
“I’m not sure.” He sat next to her, helping her sort through the mess, which was probably why his head hurt so badly. Accounting really wasn’t his thing. “Why?”
“Because there have been payments to them three or four times a month as far back as I’ve checked.”
He gave a dry, humorless laugh. “At least that’s one vendor I won’t be getting a call from. Maybe they’re affiliated with one of my regular vendors, like a parent company or something. How much are we talking about?”
“Over the past twelve months, about a hundred and twenty thousand dollars.”
When a web search turned up nothing, Karen dug deeper. “If they’re a Florida company, I can find them on the Division of Corporations website.” Her fingers flew over the keys, and several clicks later, she sat back in her chair. “Bingo.”
Chris leaned forward to see what she had found. Nothing had come up under corporations or LLCs, but a search of fictitious name registrations produced a listing for AA Best Marine Supply. He scrolled down, reading as he went. It was a local company with a Winter Haven address. Why didn’t he know who they were?
When he got to the section titled Owner Information, perplexity morphed to dread. The owner of the company was Waymon Anderson. Donna’s husband. She hadn’t just mishandled the money—she had stolen it. Lots of it. Now he could go to the police. If they couldn’t recover enough to keep the bank from foreclosing, he would be wiped out. Everything his father had worked for, gone in a flash. He was almost glad the old man hadn’t lived to see it.
All the way home, the vise in his gut competed with the one around his head until he thought he would have to pull over and throw up. Just last night, he’d asked Missy to dinner. And surprisingly, she accepted. He was to pick her up in a little over an hour. All day long he had looked forward to it, the one bright spot in his otherwise dreary day. Now he was thinking of canceling.
It wasn’t just the headache. It was the whole situation. He was almost thirty years old and back where he was when he finished high school. No, he was worse off. Back then he at least had a nice chunk of cash he had saved from working part-time in his father’s store. Not anymore. Now he was on the brink of financial collapse, with much of his own measly savings having gone to keep the store afloat. Why would Missy even want him? He had nothing to offer her.
But at one time, she’d loved him for who he was. When he decided he wanted to go to the police academy instead of taking over his father’s marine store, she stood behind him, even though the pay would be much less. Of course, Missy had never been one for appearances. Or for extravagant possessions. But would she want someone with little more than a car and the roof over his head?
He didn’t even know if he could make her happy. With a mother who’d left before he finished kindergarten and a father who’d struggled to raise him alone, what did he know of building a successful marriage?
He pulled up in front of the house where he had lived longer than half his life and stopped next to a familiar green ’69 Pontiac. Betty was there. The ’69 Pontiac was unique enough, but the collage of bumper stickers with their assorted messages urging drivers to save the whales, go vegan and be kind to animals made it one of a kind. She had cleaned the place for years, and he saw no reason to discontinue her services. Until today.
As soon as he walked in the door, Betty began gathering her cleaning supplies. “I’m really late today,” she explained in her soft Alabama drawl. “One thing after another came up, and I just couldn’t get here. I’ll be back tomorrow to finish.”
He laid his keys and phone on the kitchen counter and removed a gel pack from the freezer. “Don’t worry about it. Go ahead and clean. I’m going to lie down and try to knock out a headache. Then I’ll be gone.”
He stumbled to the bedroom, leaving Betty in the midst of dusting the entertainment center. Hopefully two more heavy-duty painkillers and twenty-five minutes with an ice pack would do the trick. He really needed this night out and the brand of comfort only Missy could provide. There was something about her that made a man forget all his problems. Maybe it was those expressive blue eyes that belied the tough exterior she tried to project. Or that thick, luscious hair the color of dark chocolate and the texture of silk. Or maybe it was that quick wit and sarcastic sense of humor that seemed to always set right whatever was wrong.
He flopped onto his side and pressed the ice pack to his head, the vacuum humming softly in the distance. No matter how he felt, in twenty minutes he would get up, push aside the worries of his day and go get Missy. He had guaranteed her a relaxing evening out, and nothing was going to make him renege on that promise—not financial concerns, not his own insecurities and certainly not a headache.
TEN
Melissa glanced at her watch for the twentieth time in the past half hour. It was exactly one minute later than the last time she looked. She heaved an impatient sigh and checked her appearance in the gilded mirror that hung over the Bombay chest, something she had done almost as many times as she had checked her watch. She wasn’t vain,
just apprehensive. After all, it was the first real date she had had in months.
At least that was what she assumed it was. Because no matter how she denied it, what she saw in Chris’s eyes wasn’t just professional concern. Sometime between his learning about Eugene and the almost-kiss in her living room last night, everything had changed. Which left her with some decisions to make. Letting him into her life could open the door to a bright and happy future...or some serious heartbreak. In her experience, one was as likely as the other.
She glanced in the mirror again and resumed her pacing, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Hot rollers had given her already thick hair even more body, and she had taken extra care with her makeup. The black dress pants she wore fit her well, as did the black-and-teal blouse. Strappy spike heels completed the ensemble.
But she didn’t have to worry. Chris always thought she looked good, whether dressed for a night on the town or sporting a ponytail and sweatband, fresh in from working in the yard. And he had no problem with telling her so. That was something she missed.
She stopped pacing and glanced at her watch. Being late wasn’t like Chris. Neither was not calling when something came up. She snatched the phone from her purse and punched in his number. Four rings later, it was answered by...a female voice?
“Oh, I—um—I think I have the wrong number,” she stammered. “I was trying to call Chris Jamison.”
“No, you have the right number.” The words flowed through the phone like warm butter. It was the voice of a Southern belle, a character right off the set of Gone with the Wind.
She drew in a shaky breath, suddenly light-headed. Who was this woman, and why was she with Chris when he was supposed to be with her? “Is—is he there?”
“Yes, ma’am, but he can’t come to the phone right now. Can I give him a message?”
The smooth drawl echoed in her mind, scattering her thoughts and thrusting her back to a place she didn’t want to go. Images danced across her imagination, a nightmare in reverse—Adrianne’s confession, Chris’s accusations, and finally, the man she loved with all her heart in the arms of another woman. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the flow of pictures. “No...no message.”
Midnight Shadows (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 10
